


Like An Incandescent Dwelling

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Drumknott is promoted to Secretary
Relationships: Rufus Drumknott/Havelock Vetinari
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Lord Vetinari looked over the list of candidates. His secretary was meant to be the leader of the Palace Clerks, so they had made nominations among themselves. 

He knew them all of course, he had taught many of the Dark Clerks getting his last PhD. Some had even escaped from the Fool’s Guild across the courtyard to attend lectures, well not so much to attend lectures as to be away from the Fool’s Guild under the sympathetic, lethal and unofficial protection of doctoral candidates— he ran his eyes back up the list. 

Not all of them... there was one name he _almost_ recognized, a name he could nearly remember.

He looked up at the clerk who had brought the list. “Could I see Rufus Drumknott?”

“That’s me, sir.” 

Vetinari had to focus to actually look at him. Attention seemed to slide off the clerk. He was little, nearly a foot shorter than the Patrician who was not quite as tall as everyone thought he was. He had dark hair, obviously curly, but cut very short. Incredibly among Vetinari’s staff, who tended to be enthusiastic, there were no ink stains on his hands or sleeves. But there were writing callouses on _both_ hands. 

“Oh dear. You must think me inordinately inattentive.”

“Not really. Most people don’t realize they haven’t noticed me.”

“Did I hire you?” Drumknott saw the Patrician’s shoulders raise slightly, and his arms move closer to his body. This was the equivalent of curling up into a ball of embarrassment. 

“Yes, Your Worship.”

“I am not a priest.” 

“That’s ‘worship’ from ‘worthship.’ Originating from the typical Latatian address for the tribune of the plebians. Frequently mistraced etymology. I’d blame the Omnians.”

Drumknott watched the Patrician’s carefully controlled expression change from annoyance at making a mistake to delight at this explanation. All tiny movements of eye and eyebrow. 

“Are you a Dark Clerk or normal?”

“I do what needs to be done, Your Worship.”

“No, I need to know which one you are officially.”

“Unofficially a Dark Clerk, sir.”

Without warning, Vetinari flicked a small knife high into the air and put his own hand down on the table where it would fall.

Drumknott grabbed the knife as it fell and handed it back by the handle. “You are far too trusting.”

“And you are far too loyal. I expect we shall get on like an incandescent dwelling.”

“Actually—“

The Patrician winked. 


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly a week later Lord Vetinari realized he recognized Drumknott from further back. 

“You were trained at Scriveners Scribes?” 

“We’re the City Clerks Guild now. Previously the Guild of Clerks. Briefly the Non-Guild Clerks Guild.” Drumknott was sorting through the mess that had been generated between Vetinari’s ousting and his appointment as Secretary.

“Right. Did you do a semester at the Assassins Guild? Year of the Lying Gorilla, I think it was?”

“Half a semester.”

“A quarter, then.”

“No. A semester is half of the academic year. A quarter is a season as marked by the University Calendar.” Drumknott didn’t look up from the papers Wonse had tried to throw away.

“Do you enjoy correcting me, Drumknott?”

“I was hired as your secretary, sir.” Drumknott remembered a Vetinari in the Department of Applied Pathology during that half-semester. A shy, strange man who sat alone at the end of the table and seemed happier on Monday nights. Drumknott could understand fried vegetables being the highlight of someone’s week. He did not understand why someone would bring a stack of valuable books to the house table where lecturers* might spill wine on them. That Vetinari would cry openly and fall asleep on the table with his head on his arms.

The teenage Drumknott that Vetinari remembered sat in the middle of the crowd and talked to everyone. He had different glasses then, ones that aspired to a discernible personality.

“I appreciate your service.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Drumknott said wryly. He could tell that Lord Vetinari _did_ like being corrected.

*Undergraduates have too great a reverence for wine to do such a thing 


End file.
